The SuperFantastic Life of a Day Trader
by Nyteviper
Summary: Mr. Foster was less than satisfied with his average life pushing papers, handling mundane tasks, and finishing off his days with alcohol and karaoke. A city-wide attack of mutants... doesnt change his mind. He prefers gunning down zombies now.
1. Just an Average Day

_A.N.: I'm no writer. This is probably not that good, but there needed to be Killing Floor fanfics. 8(  
>and a reason for me to goof off in psychology, hurr hurr<em>

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><p><em>Prologue – Just an Average Day<em>

_._

"That'll be 14 pounds for the trip, sir."

The suited businessman grunted a little in acknowledgement, digging his hand into his pocket to pull out his old, worn wallet. He counted off the colorful bills once before handing the correct amount to the taxi driver, stepping out of the car. He straightened his loose tie a little as the taxi drove off, shuffling lazily down the road.

He needed a drink.

After a long, hard day of pushing papers, dealing with irritable bastards over the phone, and getting yelled at by his pompous superiors, some relaxing was in order. The man stops in front of a bustling door, people constantly pushing by him to go inside, shoving past him to stagger out the door, drunk and laughing. He glanced lazily up at the sign above the door, though he already knew what it read; "The Source Below"

Before too many people can push him out of the way and down the road, he pulls open the door to head inside. The room was fairly dim, but lit well enough as so to not trip over various bits of furniture and people. Most of the lighting was surrounding little tables, the main bar, and of course the stage for musicians wanting to perform or brave (or drunk, for that matter) souls who wanted to try their hand at the public karaoke machine to be judged by everyone. A brief smile formed on the man's lips as he watched a young couple sing together up on the stage. Out of tune, he noted, but he supposed it didn't matter to them if they were already drunk enough to get up there. Noticing that he was beginning to irritate people attempting to wander into the bar by blocking the doorway, the man finally moved away towards the interior of the room, heading over to the main bar to pull up an empty stool and slump down in it.

"Foster!" a loud voice laughed, "Good to see you here again!"

Well, at least the bartender was pleased to see him. The man, Foster, was already digging out his wallet from his pocket when a cold drink was placed on the table in front of him.

"The usual, I'm assuming?" the bartender coolly asked. Foster simply nodded his head, tossing a few bills onto the counter before reaching over to take his glass and chug down about half of the drink in one go. The bartender sighed, shaking his head. "Long day then?"

Foster sighed, setting down his glass. "I guess you can say that... but not really. It's just the same bloody bullshit as usual. Bates thinks that since he's in a sodding higher position than the rest of us that he can just up and do whatever he damn well pleases. Bloody pillock..." he grumbles to himself. He lazily swirls his drink around in its glass, some droplets nearly spilling out over the top. "I bloody need a better job..."

"Hey now," the bartender butted in, idly cleaning a dirty mug, "Jus' keep at it, huh? Move on up, show that wanker how to really get things done, eh? It'd be brilliant if you could be the one to call the shots around him."

Foster shakes his head. "I don't even know anymore." He lifts up his glass to take another small sip. "I've just about had it up to here with all those bum rags and I've had enough of that sodding job."

The man behind the counter just laughed, setting down his mug and dish cloth. "Hate to break it to ya Foster, but I just don't think you'll be getting' nowhere with that novel of yours. As much as I like you, I can't give ya free drinks, so you better keep that job o' yours if you wanna keep comin' here."

Foster grunted a little, running his fingers through his short, messy hair before getting to his feet and taking a step away from the bar.

"Up for karaoke already Foster? Only had one drink so far." The bartender asked, a look of surprise on his face. The man just shook his head.

"No, not tonight... I'm just not feelin' up for it tonight" he sighed, stuffing his hands into his pockets.

"Oh, come on, Foster. This'll disappoint the crowd. Don't get all glum jus' because a few people don't care for your books."

Foster just waved the man off and turned on heel, heading over to the door and wandering outside, breathing in the fresh air and briefly enjoying the lower sound levels. He made his way over to the intersection, but paused for a moment when he felt the splash of something cold and wet hit his nose. He automatically looks up at the dark clouds above him and groans. It was about ready to start raining. Foster looked down both ways of the road he was walking down.

Not one cab in sight.

"Of course there's no bloody cab... that would be _convenient_." He grumbles to himself as he hurries across the street to a still open convenience store for shelter, the rain already beginning to pour down. He shakes off some of the droplets of water that were dripping down his hair as soon as he got under some cover and opened up the door.

"Right, looks like I'm walking tonight. Now where are the umbrellas...?" he mumbles to himself, heading down a cramped aisle to the back of the store. Almost immediately, he finds his path blocked by a woman with a shopping cart and her child, distracted by god knows what and taking up most of the aisle. The lady appears to have been watching a news program that just came up on the television in the back of the store, mesmerized by the screen which was babbling something about some "Biotech" nonsense. Either way, Foster didn't care much about current events, and cared even less that this woman was between him and a cluster of colorful, cheap umbrellas. He begins to tap his foot impatiently on the tiled floor, crossing his arms over his chest, but the woman took no notice, still transfixed with the television.

"Lady," Foster finally spoke up, irritation clear in his voice, "If you don't move your fat arse sometime this century..."

That got her attention.

The woman whirled around to face him, anger on her face with both hands on her hips. "I beg your pardon?" Foster cringed a little. Her voice was akin to nails dragging down on a dusty old chalk board. He shakes this off however, and keeps his arms crossed over his chest.

"You're a bloody roadblock. Now beat it and let me through or I'll sodding get stuck in your gravity trying to squeeze past your enormous body. And take that damn brat with you, too." He bitterly spat out, giving the wide eyed child a quick, irritated glance as well. With an indignant scoff, the lady grabbed her son's hand and roughly shoved past Foster, knocking him into the shelf and causing a few cans to loudly clatter to the floor. He breathes a soft "tche" as she vanished down the end of the aisle and turned around to continue to the back of the store, abandoning the cans of soup that had fallen on the floor. He quickly bends down to grab the cheapest umbrella he could find and goes back to stroll over to the front of the store.

Oh. Right. That lady needed to buy things as well.

Foster sighs to himself as he moves to wait in line behind the woman and her child so he can purchase his umbrella, lazily glancing around the store. It was raining harder now, he noticed. Just his luck. Lacking anything else to keep himself occupied as he continued to wait, he happened to spot another television on the front counter and began to watch the news being broadcasted. It was the same story as what was being discussed a few minutes ago. The name "Horzine" continued to be flashed on the screen and discussed by the news reporters.

Horzine. Foster's heard that name quite a lot lately, come to think of it. His coworkers would often exchange rumors about this company in hushed voices over their lunch breaks, or he'd hear the name mentioned on the radio every day with increasing frequency. Mr. Foster did not know what this "Horzine" was, or what about it had people talking about it constantly, but it hardly mattered to the man. Before he knew it, he was standing at the front of the counter and snapped out of his daze to fish out the few pounds needed to purchase his umbrella, pushing all thoughts of Horzine Biotech out of his head. He nodded his head once at the man working behind the register after completing his transaction and moved to head out the door, opening up his umbrella and beginning his long walk home.

Whatever this Horzine was, it was none of his business.


	2. Is that a Bloody Sword Arm?

_A.N.: Getting to action quickly, but only because it's more interesting this way. derp_.

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><p><em>Chapter 1 – Is That a Bloody Sword Arm?<em>

.

Foster groaned. Light was already beginning to pour in through his window into his bedroom, and for a brief moment, panic seized the man. He was late for work. Foster blinked once, and then lied back down onto his bed, breathing a soft sigh. No, he had a day off today... no wonder why he hadn't set his alarm.

He opted to lie in bed for a few more minutes, being too comfortable to get up. After about twenty minutes had passed, however, the man finally pulled himself up out of his bed, dragging himself over to the bathroom. Foster stopped in front of his mirror, looking himself over. His black hair was even messier after just getting up out of bed, and his green eyes looked exhausted still with bags under them. He reached up a hand to rub his chin. He needed a shave, too.

"Ugh..." he groaned to himself, "I'll take care of this all later..."

He wandered back out of the bathroom, choosing instead to shuffle into the kitchen, grabbing a few slices of bread and sticking them into his toaster. As the bread began to toast, he slumped down into a chair at his table, pulling open a laptop he had left out overnight.

"Right, let's see here," he mumbled to himself, "chapter seven..."

He stared blankly at his open document, skimming over some of the words he had written down previously, his hands frozen over his keyboard. He waited motionless for several moments, but no words came to him, and in what seemed like no time at all, his toast had already popped up, the slices of bread half burnt.

"...bugger." he grumbled to himself irritably, getting back to his feet. He shut the top of his laptop again, giving up on writing more of his autobiography for the time being to instead munch on his overcooked toast. He sighs a little to himself, strolling over to the living room aimlessly and leaning against his windowsill to star at the road outside, struggling to swallow down those burnt bits of bread. "So I guess today's not gonna be much better, huh? That's just brilliant..." he shakes his head, running his fingers through his somewhat greasy hair. "I don't even know what to do on days off anymore."

Foster finishes off his bland piece of bread and pushes away from the window, dragging himself over to the chair in the middle of the room and sinking down into it, the frame creaking a little in protest. He reaches down to the floor to pick up a remote and turns on the television. A frown forms on his face.

"_...are unaware as to the true nature of this corporation; however it is confirmed that the military is involved. In the meantime, citizens surrounding the area are expressing concerns as to strange noises and sights around the perimeter of the main facility and waterways. Some citizens have even-"_

Foster shut the television back off. "More of that Horzine bull, huh? Just another conspiracy or some shit." He pinches the bridge of his nose. "Who even believes that shit anyways?" He pauses, glancing up thoughtfully before breathing a light chuckle. "Oh, right. Sods at work." He gets back up to his feet, stretching a little.

"Well... I can't sit on my arse all day today..." he grunts. The man wanders back into the kitchen, plucking a slip of paper off the fridge with various appliances and supplies scrawled onto it. He slaps it down onto a table and shuffles back towards his bedroom.

"Alright then, just got to run a few errands today, then it's back to my book."

Half an hour later, Mr. Foster was already heading out his door, dressed cleanly in his pinstriped blazer and blue tie, though his hair refused to stay flat on his head and he still had yet to shave. He trots down the steps in front of his house and wanders down the sidewalk, glancing about idly. The streets were empty for the most part, with just the occasional car passing through and a handful of pedestrians passing him or walking on the other side of the street to go about their business. Just the way Foster liked it. Nice and empty. Of course it would be much busier near the heart of the city, but in the meantime, Foster was enjoying the peace around him. He did keep an eye out for a taxi however, though none came.

Nearly an hour into his walk he finally came across his first stop; an appliance store near the outskirts of west London. He pushed open the door and stepped inside, mumbling a soft greeting to a nearby store clerk. He stuffed his hands into his pockets again, strolling in casually and looking around for what he needed. The computers and laptops caught his attention and pulled him closer. He examined a fine looking laptop, and then shook his head. No, a new computer will have to wait until a pay raise for sure. He'll just have to make do with his old laptop for now. He passed the tempting computers and headed back into the store to look for printer ink.

"Tche, printer ink is such a rip off... what's so special about them that they need to be so damn expensive?" he grumbles to himself again as he eyes the price tag on the ink he needed.

He blinked. He could have sworn he heard the sound of someone screaming. Foster glances over his shoulder and back to the front of the store as if he could see what was going on outside the window.

"Bloody riot or mugging goin' on...?" he asked to no one. He stared for several more minutes with some of the other customers in the store also having apparently heard the commotion outside. A few even wandered back to the front to peek out the window curiously. Foster, having grown bored of watching to see what was occurring outside returned to his shopping, moving back further in the store while carrying his box of printer ink in one hand as he looked around for the cheapest pack of printer paper.

It wasn't until shrieks of surprise from _inside_ the store began, and the sound of a shattering window echoed through the store that Foster finally whipped around to see what was going on outside. Was there really a riot happening in the streets?

His heart skipped a beat.

Crawling in through the broken window were several people- no... several _creatures_. Skinless, howling monstrosities with blades coming out of their arms were pouring into the store, hacking their sword arms at any unlucky person who happened to be too close to them. Within moments, the tiled floor was already staining red from blood, the air filled with the deafening sound of these monsters roaring, people crying out in agony, and what Foster swears he heard as the horrible gurgling sound of bodies drowning in their own blood. Mr. Foster was frozen in place, flattened back against the wall in the very back of the store. His heart was pounding so hard he could swear one could hear it halfway across London. His eyes were wide, and beads of sweat were forming on his brow. There was nowhere to hide.

One of the creatures turned his way and snarled, lumbering his way and holding up that sword arm dangerously.

"Fuck..."


	3. In Deep Crap

_A.N.: woooo another chapter~ this one comes with an illustration._  
><em>boop here it is, because I'm much better at drawing than writing, remove the spaces, idk if links work - h tt p: / i3. photo bucket. com/albums/y79 / Arimaxis/tsfloadt_ch2 .jpg_

_SalaComMander: thank yooou for liking it ^u^ I'm pretty busy with schoolwork, so it may not update that fast, but I guarantee you I've got at least the next three chapters planned out_

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><p><em>Chapter 2 – In Deep Crap<em>

.

"I'm going to die- I'm _going_ to _die_." Foster breathed to himself, attempting to inch back against the back wall. The skinless monster was quickly approaching him, lifting up its sword arm as if ready to attack.

Something in Foster's head clicked. With a cry, he lurched backwards; reaching an arm back and grabbing the nearest object he could find- a printer on the shelf behind him, and held it up in front of himself like a shield. The creature's sword swung down and tore through most of the machinery of the printer, stopping halfway through the device. A brief look of success flashed on Foster's face and he then began to wrestle with the beast, twisting his makeshift shield to the side to throw it off balance. The monster staggered to the side by a few inches. Gritting his teeth, Foster strained his muscles as much as he could, holding the printer with the sword arm attached to it away from his body and lifted up a foot, planting it squarely in the creature's chest and forcing it to topple backwards and onto the floor. He gasped for breath, dropping the now freed printer down to the floor with a loud clatter.

The creature twitched and began to struggle to get to its feet, making Foster jump. Glancing around, he noticed the other fiends looking his way, gravitating towards the commotion he and the fallen beast had created. He breathed a soft "tche" before turning on heel and bolting away down another aisle in the back of the store. Much like predatory animals pursuing their prey, the monsters began to chase after him, brandishing their sword arms above their heads.

_Don't stop moving,_ Foster thought to himself. _Stop moving and you're a dead man_. He kept running through the aisles, trying to keep at least one or two aisles between him and the crowd of skinless mutants. As one began to get too close to him, Foster reached out to grab the nearest objects, anything that felt heavy and hard, and threw them at the monsters to deter them, occasionally smacking a few remotes and the like square in the middle of their heads.

There! Between the crowd of monsters and the aisles he was hiding behind, Foster spotted an opening between him and the outdoors. Before the monsters could move and block off what looked like his only escape route, he darted towards the broken window at the front of the store, past the creatures that were already whirling around to chase after him. He leapt through the window, the corners of the broken glass catching on his cheek and arm, tearing at his clothes. The tip of his foot got caught on the edge of the window, tripping him and sending him toppling into the sidewalk and receiving more scrapes on his knees and hands. Ignoring the stinging feeling on his hands and face, Foster scrambled back to his feet, chancing a quick glance back at the window he just leapt out of. His heart nearly skipped a beat upon spotting the sword-armed creatures already at the window, nearly upon him again. He staggered away from the building for a few steps before beginning to sprint, intending to put as much distance between him and these monsters as possible.

"This has to be a nightmare," he gasped, running as fast as he could away from the store where the fiends were beginning to pour out from, "I should be waking up any time now. Any minute..." But Foster knew he was only deluding himself. His heaving breaths and burning leg muscles were more than enough evidence to convince him otherwise; that this was either very real, or possibly the most realistic nightmare he's ever experienced.

A sword swung down, narrowly missing the back of his leg and shredding through the fabric of his pants with a loud ripping sound. Foster nearly tripped over his feet from shock; they already caught up with him? Without thinking, he dove to the side, half stumbling into a dingy alleyway. The mutants wouldn't be thrown off by his sudden change in direction for very long, he knew, so his eyes quickly darted down the length of the alley, desperately seeking for help, a ladder, a weapon... _anything _that would help him escape these monsters.

Foster blinked; by the end of the alleyway was a door- just barely open, but most certainly unlocked. He gulped and bit down on his lip. There was no telling if any other mutant freaks lurked behind it, but his chest was burning and his legs felt like lead. He could not outrun the beasts behind him for much longer.

Upon reaching the end of the alleyway, Foster slammed into the door with his shoulder, teetering off balance for a moment before whirling around and slamming the door shut. He pressed his body against the door to keep it shut, his hand groping around in the dark for a lock. He jumped and nearly fell away from the door when the first beast slammed into the steel, jerking the door open for a brief moment before Foster's weight pressed it shut again, grimacing as the ear-piercing scrape of sword on the steel door met his ears. His muscles were burning in protest, but he only pressed himself against the door harder, bracing his legs back to keep the door effectively shut, the creatures relentlessly pounding on the door.

Someone screamed in the distance. Through the thick door it was hard to tell, but there was most certainly someone- likely a girl- screaming nearby. Foster heard the monsters make unintelligible grunts to themselves, and slowly, the pounding of the door slowed down until finally stopping altogether. Foster cringed to himself- some unlucky sap unintentionally saved him by attracting the attention of these mutants. He slid down to the floor, his legs finally giving out. He sat there on the floor, leaning his back against the door while breathing deeply to himself.

"Jesus..." he mumbled softly, "that was... way too bloody close..."

Foster sat there in the dark room, waiting for his legs to recover and for his heart to stop pounding so heavily in his chest. To his luck, the monsters did not return to finish him off and he was granted peace and time to rest for a few minutes at least. After a long period of time had passed (Foster couldn't be sure if it was only fifteen minutes or two hours), he finally forced himself to relax enough to get a better look at his surroundings and the small room that had offered shelter for him.

The room was dimly lit, most of the lights on the ceiling either out or broken, but there was still enough to see by, and enough to eye the various dark lumps surrounding him; mostly toppled over desks, crumpled cardboard boxes, and the occasional chair. After reassuring himself that he wouldn't fall over from exhaustion, he forced himself to stand up, his joints popping in a few places and keeping a hand on the door behind him for support. He took a few tentative steps farther into the room, looking around with faint curiosity etched on his face.

"Well, doesn't look like the best place to hold out for very long, but I guess it works for now." He murmured to himself. Foster continued further into the room, coming to a door in the back which led to one extra room, carefully peeking around the corner to assure himself that there were no more sword-armed monsters lurking nearby.

The second room in the back was a dead end. "Damn," he breathed to himself, "This place is bloody small... not even a fridge to grab food out of." He crossed his arms over his chest, turning around in place. "Definitely can't stay here forever... shit, I wish I just stayed home today."

Foster sighed to himself; dragging himself over to a still upright table and sitting down on it like it was a chair. "Or maybe those freaks'll go away and I won't have to worry about it again... hah. Fat chance." He continued to lazily glance around the abandoned room, eying the litter scattered about the floor. There were bits of broken glass everywhere as well as a few crumpled newspapers and some bottles. This place must have been used by the homeless for sure. Foster continued to stare around the room, eying the papers, the broken glass, a glint of metal...

Wait.

Foster got to his feet quickly, staring over at the corner where he saw the flash of what looked suspiciously like metal. He walked over, ignoring the crunch of glass under his shoes. As he approached the object, a grin began to form on his face.

A fire axe rested in a box alongside a fire extinguisher. Foster bent down, opening up the lid of the glass case and pulling out the axe. He looked it over for a few minutes, turning it around in his hands. "Well, not the best thing in the world," he mumbled to himself, giving it an experimental swing, "but it'll do if any more of those freaks turn up."

He turned back around, carrying his newfound weapon with him before collapsing back down onto the floor in the back corner of the room. It could hardly be late in the afternoon by now, but his eyelids were suddenly heavy. He clutched his axe close to his chest, leaning against the wall and allowing his head to dip down a little bit, shutting his eyes. _After a bit of rest after all this insanity_, he thought to himself, _then it'll be back to the apartment and figuring out what to do next from there._


End file.
